


Love and Family

by awagers



Series: Virtues [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Defection, Depression, Execution, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interrogation, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, oh look I wrote more angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awagers/pseuds/awagers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dopheld Mitaka was a happy child, until his universe broke into tiny, awful pieces.  This is how he reassembled them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subkyloren (harlequinnharry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequinnharry/gifts).



> Well, here we go again!
> 
> I wanted to warn everyone that there is some non-con in the third chapter. It's off-screen, and won't be talked about too much, but I know that even the mention of such things can mess some people up. I'll try to warn explicitly when we get there.

Even as a child, Dopheld Mitaka knew he had an unusually happy life.

His father and Uncle Dopheld had served together for years, and were the best of friends. They had married each other’s sisters, who also happened to be close friends. When his cousin Peter had been born, the two had celebrated on the Harbinger in a party that was still whispered about throughout the fleet.

When, six years later, Dopheld himself had been born, Uncle Dopheld had been present, but not his father. Uncle Dopheld had been assigned to run the local recruitment office on Crassa, since men without legs weren’t particularly reliable in deep space, regardless of how good their prosthetics might be. His father loved to show the comm call where he had informed his best friend of his nephew’s name. It was only fair, after all, since Dopheld Crenshal had given him a namesake. 

Young Peter and Dopheld grew up like brothers. Peter always looked out for him, and never seemed to mind how much younger he was. Dopheld was a quiet, serious child, but Peter loved to pull him into adventures and pranks. They would run through the fields and laugh until their sides ached.

Dopheld was five years old when his father managed a posting as a supply officer at the Crassa Base. It coincided with the birth of his younger cousin, Olya. The boys were a bit skeptical of a new baby girl, but found that she was an excellent distraction when they wanted to escape and run free.

Life was happy, particularly for the Mitaka and Crenshal families.

*****

When Peter turned sixteen, he left for the Fleet Academy. His father was concerned, but knew better than to block the young man’s ambitions. He pulled the necessary strings to make sure his son was well situated, and warned him of the potential pitfalls of the Academy.

Dopheld was heartbroken.

Peter took him aside before he left, to try to console him. “Dopheld, you know I have to do this. I need to figure out all of the teachers and classes, so that you know what to do! You’re special, coz. You’re going to do amazing things. I just want to make sure it’s safe for you.”

He nodded, not wanting to let on how much he would miss his cousin. Dopheld knew perfectly well that Peter would be too busy to bother with a silly little boy like him, and that he probably wouldn’t hear from him for at least a year. 

Peter grabbed his shoulders. “I know what you’re thinking, little guy. I will never be too busy for you. Write me as often as you can, and I’ll do the same.”

Dopheld looked at him for a moment, then flung his arms around his cousin. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“I know. I’ll miss you, too. I’ll always look out for you, Dopheld. I promise.”

*****

Three years later, Peter graduated from the Academy, and received his first posting. The entire family had traveled to attend the ceremony, and Dopheld was dazzled by the pomp and circumstance. 

That didn’t stop Peter from dragging his cousin around to meet the best instructors from the Academy. He insisted on introducing his “brilliant cousin, Dopheld,” who reluctantly demonstrated a few memory tricks. The commandant, in particular, was quite impressed, and remarked that he was looking forward to Dopheld’s attendance at the Academy. 

Peter also pointed out the Ethics instructor, but was careful not to make an introduction. “They’re fairly interchangeable, and the faces vary, but whatever you do, don’t trust them. They’re less concerned with ethics than with finding any possible weakness in loyalty. Just repeat their lectures and texts back to them, and don’t ask questions.”

As the crowds thinned, the family gathered to walk to dinner. Dopheld and Peter walked arm in arm, and Olya ran laughing circles around them. Their parents trailed behind, occasionally calling out directions. 

Dinner was full of laughter and stories of the sorts of pranks a young officer could expect. Olya insisted that her brother and cousin dance with her, and they swirled through the couples on the dance floor. As the evening began to wind down, Dopheld watched both sets of parents dance, smiling and looking entirely too amorous for people their age. He was struck with the thought that this evening was like a perfect, beautiful holovid, and that his life would never be more perfect than in this moment.

Peter smiled at him, and said, “This is the beginning of great things, coz.”

Dopheld smiled back, but a trickle of unease ran down his spine.

*****

Dopheld Mitaka was eighteen when his universe was shattered.


	2. Firestorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking down Dopheld Mitaka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is sad. And full of ow. You might want a snuggly blanket or friend.

Dopheld was in his Advanced Topics in Field Communications class when they came. He was in the middle of a presentation on repurposing Clone War era in emergency situations, and initially was just irritated. The Commandant’s assistant just barged into the classroom, and demanded he report to the Commandant’s office.

Wait.

That wasn’t anything close to protocol.

That kind of summons only came when someone had died, or there was a dire emergency.

He started to follow Lieutenant Cowley down the hallway, and asked quietly, “Is everything alright?”

Cowley glanced back at him, a mixture of pity and terror in the look. “No. No, it’s really not.”

Dopheld quickened his pace, and they soon arrived at the office. Cowley patted his shoulder and whispered, “Good luck,” as Dopheld entered.

Commandant Dexton looked…old. Strange, Dopheld had never seen him look so worn or sad. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

Dexton levered himself out of his chair, and walked quickly to grasp Dopheld’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Cadet Mitaka. I can’t protect you from this. They’re going to take you, and it’s going to hurt like nothing you’ve ever known. Just answer every question as honestly as you can, and don’t fight them. Do you understand me? Don’t fight back, whatever happens.”

Dopheld nodded his head, but his confusion was obvious. “But, sir, what…”

“I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry.”

Dexton stepped back, and two men entered the room. Not just men. Intelligence agents. 

“Cadet Mitaka. We have a few matters to discuss with you. Come along, now.”

******

Intelligence bases weren’t the sort of places that were talked about much. Furtive whispers where officers couldn’t hear, certainly, but they weren’t spoken of openly.

Dopheld was beginning to understand why.

The darkness and cold metal was certainly to be expected. The screams and whimpers weren’t surprising. Well, at least not until they came from him.

Oh gods. Peter. They said Peter was dead.

And a traitor.

It wasn’t possible. Peter was kind and loving and loyal and everything good in the universe. He could be a bit irreverent sometimes, but he never meant any harm. They were from Fleet families, generations back. It just couldn’t be.

He had screamed that, over and over again, while they broke his fingers. 

They said Uncle Dopheld was involved. That he and Aunt Katya and little Olya would be tried for treason.

Dopheld put his head down, and wept.

*****

After what seemed to be the first week of interrogation, Dopheld began to think they weren’t planning to ever let him go.

They had moved on from asking about Peter (oh gods, Peter), and had started on the rest of the family. Once they learned about his memory, they had him recite every political or ethical conversation his parents and Peter’s had ever had in his presence. 

It was a terrible thing, remembering everything perfectly.

Part of him rebelled at betraying his family, but he kept thinking back to what the Commandant told him. Any resistance would make them think he was hiding something, and it would only be worse.

How could it possibly be worse?

*****

When they started to use the drugs on him, he could only feel a revolting mix of relief and horror.

They weren’t going to kill him.

But they were going to try to brainwash him. Well, perhaps “modify” was a better word for it. 

It was unnerving, knowing that he didn’t used to feel this way. He could remember his own unshakable faith in his family, in Peter, knowing that they would never leave him, that he was important. But somehow, he couldn’t reach that faith any more. The whispers and insinuations and false pity had combined with the drugs to take it away from him. 

Peter had promised to always look after him.

The interrogators had spoken in pitying tones of other defectors, other traitors, whose families had been taken with them. Say what you want about the Resistance scum, but they were scrupulous about limiting collateral damage. If the traitorous bastard asked for a family member to be extracted, they were.

No one had come for Dopheld.

The joy and trust he had always felt for his family was slipping away, replaced with a conviction that he wasn’t worth it. He had been left behind because he just wasn’t worth the bother.

But at least they weren’t going to kill him.

*****

When he stood in the Commandant’s office again, he knew he looked terrible. He was pale and gaunt, and two of his fingers were still splinted.

They could have sped up the healing, but he knew that someone like him wasn’t worth the trouble.

Dopheld kept his eyes fixed on the wall behind Dexton’s back, unable to make eye contact. The officer who had escorted him back made some biting comment about bringing back worthless trash, and the Commandant dismissed him with a snarl.

“Cadet, at ease. Have a seat.” He followed the order, but could not seem to find words. Fortunately, the Commandant seemed willing to take charge.

“You’ve been gone for two weeks. I don’t know what precisely they told you, but I’ll tell you everything I’ve been able to find out.”

Dopheld sat numbly, letting the words wash over him, knowing that he’d be able to pull them out and examine them at his leisure.

Peter was a traitor.

No one knew why, but in the middle of a brilliantly planned attack on the Resistance Base, he had crippled the Fleet communications. Most of the scum had escaped, and Fleet losses had been heavy. Instead of a decisive victory, crushing their enemies, it was a rout of the First Order. 

Peter had held them off for almost an hour, and had finally been shot by a sniper.

With the proud scion of two loyal families laying in a pool of his own blood and a large portion of the fleet in shambles, answers were needed quickly. Peter’s parents and sister had been taken within hours, and after four days of interrogation, executed publicly. Dopheld’s parents had also been taken, and after a week, been found dead in their burning home.

Dopheld started when his cheeks were wiped gently with a handkerchief. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

“It’s all gone then, sir?” His voice had been shredded by constant screaming, and he didn’t even recognize it.

The Commandant nodded, then sighed heavily. “There’s more. They decided that you’re too useful to kill outright, but you’ve been deemed undesirable. You’ve been removed from most of your advanced classes, and placed in the gunner’s program.”

It was strange, how the tears just kept leaking out. “Of course. That should save them the trouble of executing me themselves.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’m assuming there’s to be no memorial for my parents?”

“I’m so, so sorry, my boy. I’ve done what I can, but…”

“I understand, sir. Please, don’t risk yourself on my account.”

Dopheld stood slowly, and turned towards the door. He paused as the Commandant spoke. “Things are going to be very different right now. I won’t be able to protect you from the predators.”

Dopheld nodded, and walked painfully out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed the muse, and make me feel much better about myself. I'm gonna go cry now.


	3. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulations can be a bitch. Also, moving on is hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news - I think this is last chapter of total Mitaka whump!
> 
> Bad news - this is the chapter with the non-con. So, if that's something you want to avoid, just go to "When word of the incident" and read from that point on. I tried not to go into too many details, but still put in enough to get the point across. I'll put in some more specific warnings in the end notes. Please let me know if I need to tag anything that I've missed.
> 
> Also, fair warning, I've had an awful week and have been really depressed and unhappy. This...may have influenced my writing. I'm going to try to write some more this weekend, but we'll see. Hopefully that will give me a little boost.
> 
> As always, your comments/feedback/kudos/bookmarks/subscriptions bring me an unreasonable amount of joy. Anything you want to share is appreciated.
> 
> But enough about me. Here we go!

It was a funny thing. Dopheld had never thought he could simultaneously despise and be grateful for a regulation.

On the one hand, the Academy fraternization regs offered him a great deal of protection. Most penetrative acts could result in stern discipline if discovered, and that was if they were consensual. Both parties would be subject to questioning and possible counseling, and if one party was found to have forced themselves on the other…well, it would not go well for them, regardless of status or political connections. Teachers, of course, would be summarily dismissed, consent be damned.

On the other hand…

Well, apparently his mouth was still fair game. 

The time outside of classes became a horrible cycle of humiliation. He spent as much time as possible studying in public areas, but that didn’t stop the most persistent of his tormentors. Still, they couldn’t leave visible marks, and had to at least give him enough time to clean up before classes. He treasured those brief, quiet times when no one could touch him.

He was only assaulted once by a teacher.

His Ethics teacher was a smarmy bastard, and had been intimating that Dopheld needed to provide extra services if he expected to pass the class. He managed to avoid being alone with the bastard for weeks, but one afternoon he ran out of excuses. He wasn’t sure which more humiliating, the act itself, or having his former Communications teacher, a man he respected deeply, see him on his knees like that.

He had begged his former teacher to stop beating the bastard. He had very good political connections, and it wasn’t worth his career to defend an undesirable like Dopheld.

The man looked so stricken that Dopheld was afraid he would cry. Of all of it, that was the one thing he didn’t think he could bear.

Dopheld was carefully escorted to the Commandant’s office. Dexton questioned him about the incident, and assured him that the bastard would no longer be interacting with cadets. He coaxed a promise from Dopheld that he would come forward if a teacher touched him or threatened him again.

“I can’t protect you from the other cadets, but I’ll be damned if anyone on my staff hurts you.”

“Sir, I’m not worth the risk. They’ll say it’s because of…because of my family, and use it against you, and…”

“Don’t worry about that. I haven’t survived this long without learning a few tricks. Hells, almost every officer in the fleet has passed through here at some point. If they were going to execute me for officers turning traitor, it would have happened years ago. Now, besides this distressing incident, how are you getting along?”

Dopheld looked away. “I’m managing, sir. Some days are difficult, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Dexton sighed. “I can’t protect you any more than I already am, not from the other cadets.”

“It’s not that, sir. I can handle myself well enough. It’s just…I was used to being challenged by my courses. The boredom now is a bit…wearing.”

He winced as Dexton swore and started to pace. “One of the brightest minds of your generation, and I’m supposed to send you off as kriffing cannon fodder.” He shook his head. “I’ll see about getting you trained on the mechanical side of things. Knowing how to rewire the guns may give you a bit of protection.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dopheld said quietly.

“And you’ll come to me if anything like this happens again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dexton nodded. “Dismissed.”

*****

When word of the incident and the Ethics teacher’s removal to an obscure Outer Rim world got around, Dopheld’s life became fractionally easier. That, combined with his new courses and the fact that everyone was finishing classes before graduation, distracted from thoughts of the future.

Two days before graduation, he was summoned to the Commandant’s office. He was surprised to be offered a seat, and downright shocked when the Commandant sat across from him and began pouring them each a drink.

“Well, my boy, you did it. Let’s drink to Lieutenant Mitaka.”

Dopheld was surprised to find tears welling in his eyes. He touched his glass to Dexton’s, then drank deeply.

“I really am proud of you, young man. Even with everything that’s happened, they couldn’t deny your commission.”

“I have a feeling that there’s more to it than that, sir. Is there a reason you’ve called me in so early? Graduation isn’t for another two days.”

Dexton looked at his glass, then set it aside. “Sometimes you’re too damned sharp for your own good. I wanted to tell you about your posting in private.”

Dopheld sighed. “That bad, is it?”

“Better than I originally hoped. You’ll be assigned to the _Mutilator_. She doesn’t get much action, so your odds are better than average. Hells, that’s where Larnot was stationed, and he actually lived more than five years on the guns.”

“And how many strings did you pull to get me there?” Dopheld shook his head. “Sir, really, I’m not worth the trouble.”

“You’re one of the brightest cadets I’ve ever seen, and that includes your cousin.”

Dopheld took another drink, but couldn’t seem to stop the tears that started leaking from his eyes. He gratefully took the handkerchief Dexton slipped to him.

“Now, I did want to discuss something with you. I know that graduation is normally a happy occasion, but your situation is…unique. There may be unpleasantness if you’re there.”

Dopheld closed his eyes, remembering that beautiful, perfect day when Peter graduated. Something inside him seemed to throb in pain.

“I’ve made arrangements for you to join your ship early. The shuttle leaves in two hours. That should give you enough to make your goodbyes, but allow you to avoid any…unpleasant celebrations.”

“Sir…” he tried to talk, but his voice broke.

“Dopheld.” He looked up quickly. The Commandant had never used his first name. No one had since Peter had…except during his interrogation.

“We have all failed you. This academy failed you. The fleet failed you. I, personally, failed you. You should have been protected and nurtured. You should be taking a prominent position, and allowed to learn and grow. Instead you’re marching to your death. Nothing that I can do will ever make up for that.”

Dopheld shuddered, overwhelmed by the moment.

“Please, always remember that I am very proud of you. I will not ask your forgiveness, for I do not deserve it. All I ask is that you try to remember me fondly, and that you take care of yourself.”

Dopheld looked at his hands for a moment, then stood and drew himself to attention. “Of course I forgive you, sir, although I hardly think you need it. Thank you for everything. I should go pack my things.”

Tears shone in the older man’s eyes, but he nodded, and saluted the young man. As Dopheld left, he said quietly, “Good luck, my boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter references Mitaka being sexually molested. He is forced to provide oral sex to multiple individuals, including a teacher. Additionally, another teacher that he respects witnesses the assault. Institutional acceptance of this kind of behavior is also referenced.


	4. Stillness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Mitaka's first posting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting. As is the case for most of us, life is crazy. My muse has been a bit flighty lately, and she keeps giving me stuff that I CAN'T POST YET BECAUSE WE'RE NOT THERE YET!
> 
> *deep breath*
> 
> Anywho. This is a short chapter, but it does move us forward, and get us closer to the fun stuff.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Life aboard the _Mutilator_ was…easier in many ways.

They patrolled well-subdued space, so there was very little need for the guns. Occasionally, a smuggler would cause problems, but it was rarely dangerous. There was plenty of time to study schematics and manuals, and make sure the equipment was in prime condition. Dopheld quickly gained a reputation for making even the most worn systems operate at peak efficiency.

Also, Colonel Freng was very particular about consent. It was refreshing to have everyone keep their arms, hands, and other appendages to themselves.

Still, Dopheld knew he was an outsider. The crew had, for the most part, been together for several years. No one was unkind or hostile, but he was well aware that he was on the outside of a closely knit group.

But not dead. Or molested. That, at least, was lucky.

So, he quietly went about his duties. When his turn for leave came around, he quietly deferred it. It wasn’t as though there was anyone he needed to visit. Let the others see their families, he told himself. I’m fine here.

Without trying, he seemed to have earned the respect of the small Stormtrooper contingent on board. Well, he didn’t consider taking his share of the riskier repairs to be trying, but that, along with some basic courtesy, seemed to have impressed them. Honestly, he didn’t understand why most of the officer corp looked down on them. Their training was exemplary, and most of them had a longer life expectancy them Dopheld at this point.

Three years slipped by with the rare skirmish to liven things up.

Dopheld was surprised when he was ordered to report to Freng’s office early one shift. He had very little contact with the man, and couldn’t imagine why he was needed. He reviewed the past few weeks, but couldn’t think of anything untoward that had happened. He and his gunners had actually done remarkably well against the last smuggler’s nest they’d flushed out.

When he entered the Colonel’s office, he found the man staring out the window. It took several long minutes before he sighed, and turned to face Dopheld.

“Lieutenant. I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”

Well. That was unexpected.

“Sir?”

Freng sat heavily at his desk. “I miscalculated, Lieutenant, and it appears that you will pay the price for it.” He waved Dopheld into a seat. “You’ve done very well here, and my reports have reflected that. Apparently I was a bit too…enthusiastic in my praises of late. I seem to have reminded someone that you’re still alive and well, and they have taken exception to that fact.”

Dopheld winced. “I wondered why they’d left me alone for so long. May I ask what happens next, sir?”

“You’re to be reassigned. To the _Finalizer_.”

All of the blood drained from Dopheld’s face. Gods. He’d be lucky to last a month. 

Freng started to swear in…Huttese maybe? Whatever it was, it was foul enough to blister paint. Dopheld was surprised to have a glass of something extremely alcoholic shoved into his hand, but he wasn’t going to waste the small comfort. He knocked it back, then set it on the desk with a shaking hand.

Hmmmm. He’d thought his control was better than that. But his hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

“How long do I have, sir?”

Freng poured him another drink. “We’ll be stopping off at Kraalor in two weeks. You’ll take a transport from there.”

Dopheld looked at his hands. “Well then. That at least gives me time to look over the ion cannons before I go. There are some gyros that…”

“Fuck that with an assault rifle.” Dopheld looked up in shock. “You’re kriffing well going to sit here and get spectacularly drunk while I tell you sentimental stories about liaising with your father when I was young enough to still have hair.”

Dopheld held his gaze for a long moment, then smiled slightly. “Yes, sir.”

*****

The hangover had been epic. Not surprising, but certainly magnificent.

What was truly surprising was how many on board seemed sad to see him go. He’d been propositioned three separate times. People kept slipping him their luck charms, and getting misty eyed. It was gratifying, but unnerving.

And then they had thrown him a goodbye party.

He’d been so shocked that anyone cared. He drank everything that was handed to him, which led to him passing out fairly early on. He woke in his bunk, with his boots off but his uniform still on, thank all the gods. As he lay there, trying not to be sick, he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it. Maybe he wasn’t just an outsider? Maybe he had been part of something here?

Well. It was over now. Time to face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos and bookmarks feed the muse and help my mental health! Just don't say anything to her about clones, Wedge, or handmade leather footwear. She tends to go off on tangents...


	5. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dopheld puts his big boy undies on, and saves a few lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer update, to make up for the last one. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! If you do, please leave a comment or other feedback. If you don't...please leave a comment or other feedback. The muse must be fed.

As the transport shuttle docked with the _Finalizer_ , Dopheld glanced again at his fellow passengers. Most of them were apparently in the same situation as he was. One was obviously fresh from the Academy, while the rest looked worn and dispirited. They seemed to have lost all sense of pride, and looked it.

Well, he’d be damned if he carried himself as anything less than his father’s son. 

Listening to Freng’s stories had woken something in him that had been sleeping for far too long. Yes, he was disgraced. Yes, his family was dead. But apparently there was a segment of the Fleet that remembered his father and uncle, and still respected them. Grieved for them, certainly, but their memories were not the tarnished things he had thought.

So, when he disembarked, it was with his uniform in impeccable order and his head held high.

They were greeted by a harried looking lieutenant who escorted them to their quarters near the cannons, then gave them a perfunctory tour. Mess hall, infirmary, fire control. As they went, he spoke brusquely about their situation.

The _Finalizer_ carried up to fifteen Lieutenants assigned to the guns at any given time. Every six months, they would restock to the full complement. Unless, of course, they dropped down below five, at which point Captain Shorun would lose his temper, fill out massive amounts of paperwork, and they would make an emergency stop for more bodies.

The young man, Lieutenant Harbin, paused to run his fingers through his hair. “Look, I know none of us are eager to knock off, but if you could at least space it out a bit, it would make things easier for the rest of us. The Captain’s a right bastard, and he hates filing reports.”

And that concluded their orientation.

*****

Over the next few weeks, Dopheld learned a great deal more.

The most glaringly obvious fact was that Captain Shorun was, without a doubt, an unmitigated ass. The human embodiment of a bantha’s hindquarters.

At first Dopheld had attributed it to his job. After all, commanding a group of young men that died with alarming regularity could sour anyone. Shorun, however, was not sour. He was a vicious, small-minded idiot.

He hated his position. He was a political appointee, the useless sort that has no redeeming value, and is usually shuffled off to the sort of shit job that competent officers could get out of. He considered all of the paperwork and reports he was subjected to a personal insult, and avoided them whenever possible. 

He hated his officers. They were all beneath him socially and in terms of rank, and it pained him to associate with them. 

He hated the troopers who served with him. The officers were bad enough, but this scum? Worthless trash swept up from the dregs of the universe, not even fit to serve without conditioning.

He…did not react well to Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka.

The conflict between his background and his current status were a source of extreme cognitive dissonance. After all, the boy came from two families that had served loyally back into the far memories of the Old Republic. Until, of course, his cousin had turned traitor and tainted them all. But he still had connections that secured him a safe posting until just recently.

So, Shorun attempted to be what he considered friendly. He took the trouble to learn Mitaka’s name, instead of referring to him as “meat.” When requests came down for assistance in other areas, he made sure Mitaka was sent. 

And it seemed to pay off. Mitaka always answered respectfully, with the sort of deference that was his due. He even offered to take over the thrice-damned paperwork, freeing up Shorun’s time and cutting down on the scrutiny from his superiors.

Dopheld, of course, was disgusted with the entire situation. Still, he took the opportunities as they came. He spent a great deal of time doing the captain’s job for him. Aside from the reports, he took the time to talk to the others in his unit, and trying to raise morale somewhere closer to simply terrible, as opposed to utterly horrific.

His assignments in other areas were sometimes interesting, and helped to break up the grind of the constant despair in his unit. Unfortunately, they tended to include interactions with Kylo Ren.

*****

Dopheld had been ordered to escort a Resistance prisoner from interrogation to a holding cell. It seemed like an easy, if potentially gruesome assignment.

It was worse than he had expected.

The man hung limply in his shackles. Dopheld had heard that Resistance fighters were usually defiant, so he tried to provoke a reaction. But after several pointed insults, the man just muttered unintelligibly to himself.

One of the troopers assigned to help him snorted. “Don’t bother, sir. Lord Ren’s been at him, and they’re never much use after that.”

“But he’s only been here for a few hours. Even the best interrogators take longer than that to get results. What happened?”

“You haven’t heard, sir? Lord Ren uses some of that Force magic, and rips information from their minds. He usually only takes the more pressing bits, and then turns them over to interrogation. Used to be they’d mostly die right off, but he’s apparently fine-tuned it so that they can pull out everything else afterwards. Doesn’t matter how hard they resist. They’re more like a data core waiting to have things pulled out at this point.”

Dopheld looked at him, utterly horrified. The trooper sighed.

“Would be nice if he left them able to walk. They’re kriffing heavy. So, where to, sir?”

Dopheld numbly gave the cell block they were heading towards, and followed the two troopers. The prisoner was slung between them like a sack of meat. 

He realized later that shock had made him careless. Kylo Ren came barreling down the corridor, and all he could think as he flew towards the wall was that he had too much karking paperwork to go to the medbay.

*****

When he returned to the barracks after a week in the infirmary, there was entirely too much chaos for his aching head. Really, he’d only been gone a week, and his head hurt entirely too much to deal with any of this.

Harbin (tired and worn and competent and didn’t deserve his fate) and Lake (gods, just nineteen, just a boy) were both dead. They were down to just seven lieutenants, and still had two months to go until the next restock. Several important reports had been due while he was in medical, and that kriffing idiot Shorun had just left them sitting. There was a mechanical issue in the forward ion cannon that no one could pin down.

And, naturally, there was a live fire exercise about to start.

Mitaka took a deep breath, downed some extra painkillers, and got to work. 

He made sure the best crews were manning the guns. Then he positioned the officers as best he could, given the shortage. A look at the readouts from the cannon showed that the problem was in the wiring, in a place that could only be accessed with the guns deactivated. Unless, of course, the technician was completely expendable. Or mad. Or trying to avoid imminent destruction by an enemy.

Still, it should hold for the exercise. 

That just left Shorun whining at him about the reports. He did his best to soothe the man, and finally got him to shut up as the exercise began. 

Things seemed to progress well. The men were very good at what they did, and he began to relax fractionally. Even the damaged cannon was firing well. The gunners were compensating well.

Which was, of course, when it all went to shit.

There was an explosion in the forward cannon. The sort that doesn’t just affect the one system, but causes other systems to malfunction. Dopheld swore, and started to grab the repair pack he would need. He knew perfectly well that he was the only one who could manage the repairs without having to shut down half the bloody ship.

He was halfway to the access tunnel when he heard Shorun’s nasal voice.

“Lieutenant, what do you think you’re doing? Send a few troopers to fix the problem. It’s what they’re here for!”

Dopheld didn’t even turn around. “I’m the only one who can fix this, sir. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon, and get those reports done for you.”

Shorun’s voice seemed to echo in the silence of the room. “If you think I’m going to risk such a valuable officer on a repair job, you’re sadly mistaken. Send the gutter trash to do it! It’s what they’re here for, after all. Proper officers like us should get our hands dirty.”

It was a funny thing, Dopheld thought later. He hadn’t completely lost his temper since he was a small child. Didn’t have much of one to lose, to be honest. But this? This wasn’t something he could tolerate.

He whirled on Shorun. “Shut your mouth, you damned fool. If I ever hear you speaking of Troopers like that again, I will beat you to a bloody pulp. They are loyal and honorable and intelligent, which is more than I can say for you. Now, I’m going to go save your ass. There’s a very good chance that I won’t make it back, but if I do, you can court martial me.”

Dopheld started to lever himself into the access shaft, then turned. In the most poisonous tone he could summon, he said, “Sir.”

*****

It took three hours and two other technicians braving the dangers to help him, but they finally fixed the cannon.

Dopheld began to laugh in relief. They did it.

One of the technicians, HT-8886, clouted him on the shoulder. “You’re a karking miracle, sir.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just doing my duty.”

Both of the other men snorted. “You stood up to Shorun for us, sir. That won’t be forgotten. Hells, it’s probably already been reported to Captain Phasma. She takes a very dim view of anyone who doesn’t respect her men.”

Dopheld shook his head. “I’m marked for death. The fact that I’m still alive is apparently quite vexing to certain parties. Don’t put yourselves out for my sake.”

HT-8886 sighed. “You’re one of the best officers on this ship. Use the threat of Captain Phasma to keep Shorun in line. We’ll make sure she knows to back you up.”

“Thank you. I wish you wouldn’t bother, but thank you.”

*****

Shorun was, predictably, furious.

Dopheld only wished he wasn’t so blasted tired. He couldn’t enjoy putting the fool in his place as much as he would have liked to.

A careful and surprisingly blunt explanation of the captain’s position was delivered. After some consideration, he petulantly agreed to “allow” Dopheld to write up the reports on the incident. They would, of course, put him in the best possible light, and make him seem to be clever, decisive officer. 

And word would be passed to Captain Phasma that he deeply regretted his outburst, and that no further action was required.

Dopheld smiled as he settled into his bunk. He was alive, Shorun was cowed (for the moment, at least), and the troopers would be treated with a bit more respect.

Not bad at all.


	6. Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving through the fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I come bearing gifts!
> 
> Fair warning, though, this chapter features depression, with a brief mention of suicidal thoughts. Now, I'm drawing this from some of the things I've experienced. Depression and suicide don't always look like this. Also, there's a brief mention of panic attacks. Again, I'm going off of my own experiences. If this kind of crap is going on in your life, tell someone. Get help. It can get better. You can get better.
> 
> As always, feedback is deeply appreciated.

When Dopheld woke the next morning, everything seemed tinged with grey. He tried to sit up, and it felt like a wet, heavy blanket had been thrown over his whole body. He stopped, and breathed quietly.

Lovely. Well, it could be worse.

After he’d been returned to the Academy, he had tried a few times to fight against the conditioning he knew he’d been subjected to. It…hadn’t gone well. Sometimes he floated in a crushing state of depression for hours or days. That, at least, he could work through. Other times he developed terrible headaches that left him with stabbing pains and a sensitivity to light and sound. He usually ended up intentionally hitting his head, and counting the time in medical as a blessing.

Most terrifying, though, were the panic attacks.

He couldn’t just power through those, or talk his way around them. Hells, he couldn’t even breathe when they hit. And he knew, even after they passed, that if one came while he was on duty…well, that would really be the end of it all.

He sighed. All right. Time to get moving.

He heaved himself out of his bunk and dressed mechanically. Quick stop in the fresher, scoop up food at the mess, walk to Shorun’s office to do the bastard’s work for him. Ignore the whispers in his head.

_Worthless._

_Fool._

_Waste of space, waste of air, waste of water._

He passed a window, and stopped, placing his hand on it. He was always surprised by the beauty and peace of the empty stretches of space. It would be so easy to find an airlock, step out into the quiet, and stop hurting…

He snatched his hand back. Kriff it all. Work to be done. Keep moving. Just…keep moving.

As he got closer to Shorun’s office, he passed a trooper, and absently returned his salute. And then another one did it. And another. After the fifth salute, he paused for a moment, and looked at the trooper. FB-3519, his memory supplied. Bits, the other troopers called him. Hell of a shot, didn’t like to be touched, wasn’t fond of small places.

One of the ones Shorun would have sent to try and repair the wiring.

He nodded at Dopheld. Dopheld nodded back, and then resumed his walk to Shorun’s office. Something that felt oddly like grief ached in his chest. It was…at least better than the grey fog.

Just keep moving.

*****

The next few weeks moved slowly, but at the same time they seemed to slip through his fingers.

Shorun had been belligerent, but a few pointed comments had convinced him to bugger off while Dopheld completed all of the necessary reports. He had eventually shut up long enough to sign off on a proper repair request, and soon all of the cannons were back to optimal performance. The two of them entered an uneasy state of détente. Dopheld did all of the work, and Shorun kept his distance.

The things that caught his mind and helped him pull out of the fog were the quiet interactions of the troopers he encountered. Up until now, they were always careful to shut down their conversations when he approached. Can’t let one of the Unis, one of the outsiders, notice them. 

Now, though.

Apparently he had crossed over from being an outsider. He had always heard that troopers were terrible gossips, but hearing it firsthand was wonderful. What training vids would be showing. General Hux’s involvement with Kylo Ren. The sexual antics of certain troopers. Speculation on Captain Phasma’s interests.

It took him almost three weeks to figure out that they were doing it on purpose. They were trying to bring him back to himself.

Damn Shorun. They were magnificent. Conditioned from childhood, but still generous enough to do this.

He found himself on a late watch with Bits one evening. As they sat together in the control room, Dopheld could actually feel the man fighting to find a way to start a conversation. He smiled slightly, and said, “Out with it, Bits. You’re going to give yourself a headache if you keep thinking that hard.”

“Back with us, sir?”

He sighed quietly. “Yes. For the moment, at least.”

Bits nodded. “So, battle stress, or conditioning gone bad? Because it looked like the sort of thing where a trooper is sent to reconditioning, the kind that doesn’t even hurt.”

Dopheld sat heavily next to him. “My cousin was the one who betrayed the Fleet at Dantooine.” 

Bits cursed softly, and he nodded. “When they took me in for interrogation, I thought they were going to kill me. Probably would have hurt less. Unfortunately, one of the Intelligence officers made me his pet project. The conditioning is so far outside of the norms, there’s no way to reset it. Besides, I think he did this part intentionally. If I show too much initiative, defy orders, stand up for myself…well, this is the best outcome.”

“And the other options?” Bits asked quietly.

“Headaches. Not...small ones. Blinding pain, the kind that cripples you. The worst is the panic attacks. If one happened while I was on duty…”

“…they’d probably shoot you,” Bits finished.

Dopheld nodded. He felt Bits’ gaze on him, but turned back to the report he was working on. No reason to dwell. He wasn’t under any illusions.

After several quiet minutes, Bits sighed. “Right then. I’ll spread the word. I can’t promise that we’ll be able to save you, but we can at least give you a bit of cover.”

“No. I won’t risk any of you. Damn it all, Bits, I’m really not worth that.”

“Oh, sod off, Lieutenant. I can count on two hands the Unis who would have stood up to Shorun that day, and that includes Commander Tegrin and the General. You’re a fucking treasure.”

Dopheld shook his head, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately not to cry.

“I’ll make sure they know to not doing anything they wouldn’t do for another trooper. Is that enough?” He sighed when Dopheld nodded. “Remember, sir, they can’t break you if you don’t let yourself be broken. Underneath all of it, you’re still you. There are pieces there, deep inside, that they can’t...”

Suddenly Bits hissed. Someone coming.

Oh, well, didn’t that take the cake. Shorun. The man was a menace.

“Lieutenant, would you care to tell me why I’ve been dragged from my bed at this unholy hour?”

“Sir?”

Shorun huffed. “I just received priority orders for you. Apparently you’re to report to the General’s office tomorrow morning.” He smirked when he saw Dopheld’s shock. “Oh ho! So, you don’t know either. Not so damned cocky now, are you?”

Dopheld narrowed his eyes. “I appreciate you informing me so promptly, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish these reports. If I’m going to be meeting with the General, I won’t have a chance to complete them tomorrow.”

“See that you do.” He stalked off, bristling with insult.

After the coast was clear, Bits snorted. “Think he realizes his hair was sticking straight up?”

Dopheld laughed softly. “I doubt it.” He shook his head. “I really do need to finish these reports. If they’re sending me off somewhere, that will at least give the idiot a few months before he falls behind again.”

“A fucking treasure, sir.”

“Shut up, Bits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for your feedback. Like Nature, I abhor a vacuum.
> 
> Also, fun little thing. I heard a song the other day that actually made me cry in my car. It's so perfectly sums up the whole Hux/Ren relationship. It's called "Burning House" by Cam.


	7. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new beginning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with this, but I've been fiddling with it for too long. I think this is where it wants to be.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting. Baseball season has started, and I have season tickets.
> 
> And, without further ado...

Dopheld dressed carefully in his best uniform. After all, it wasn’t often that someone like him met with General Hux.

And those times tended to be unpleasant for the underling.

Maybe he’d heard about Shorun’s behavior, and wanted confirmation. Maybe he wanted to reprimand Dopheld for his reactions. Maybe commend him for repairing the cannon. Maybe ship him off to a different posting. Maybe…

Maybe he needed to stop.

Dopheld took a deep breath, and then another. It didn’t particularly matter. He needed to report to the General, and he couldn’t afford to be late. 

As he walked through the corridors of the ship, he noticed a passing trooper incline their head slightly to him as he passed. He returned the gesture, slightly puzzled. And then it happened again. And again.

They were all doing it.

He smiled ever so slightly. Bits. Of course.

Well, if he was going to get his ass handed to him, at least he could remember why.

*****

He knew he looked nervous when he stepped into the General’s office. Nothing wrong with that. It might even buy him some slight sympathy.

The space was elegantly sparse, with only the necessary items for someone running the entire Fleet. Desk, chairs, datapads, comms. The only luxuries were the sheer amount of open space, and the large window. 

Dopheld approved. Not that his approval mattered, particularly, but it was nice to know that the General had impeccable taste.

He stood at attention and gave his name, and was a bit startled when he was asked to sit. Dopheld had to admit, when he thought back on the meeting, that it took an embarrassingly long time for him to understand exactly what the General was proposing. 

Him? Dopheld Mitaka, cousin of a traitor, written off by the regime he served, designated cannon fodder?

He tried, fumblingly, to explain to the General why he was so unsuitable. After trying to speak around the issue, he finally just laid it out. He was not to be trusted or given such a privilege.

Apparently the General didn’t agree.

It was the sad understanding in the General’s eyes that made Dopheld accept his offer. It was so much like the way Dexton and Freng had looked at him, but there was an added willingness to fight for him that the others had lacked. Neither of them had been willing or able to stand up to the Intelligence Services, and he wouldn’t have wanted them to. General Hux, on the other, was ready to go to war for him. For lowly Dopheld Mitaka. 

He remembered his own readiness to fight for the troopers being ordered to their deaths. For his people. The General’s comments about loyalty echoed in his head.

This was a man he could respect and serve. This was a man he would follow.

“Sir, I would be honored.”

*****

As Dopheld walked back to the barracks, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what had just happened. The General’s embarrassment about his relationship with Lord Ren had been almost sweet, and he had shown flashes of a wry humor that Dopheld thought he would enjoy.

The part about bribery and threats had been…jarring, but not distressing. It made sense that he would be a target. After all, he was vulnerable, and had almost no power in his own right. He could also see the sense in being set up as bait. It would be good to let the General who was watching him, and how valuable the information was considered to be.

He glanced down at his beeping comm, and read the new orders. His eyebrows rose, and he stopped to reread the messages. The assignment as the General’s aide was expected. The neighboring office was even logical. However, he certainly hadn’t expected the private quarters near the senior staff. What was he supposed to do with…ah. A repurposed storage closet. Well, that at least was appropriate. It kept him near the General, in case he was needed, but wasn’t large enough to raise eyebrows.

When he arrived at the barracks, he quickly packed his bag. His personal possessions were few enough to fight in a small bag, and he sighed as he shouldered it. 

Shrugging off an odd sort of nostalgia, he walked to the fire control room to say his fond farewells to the idiot.

The moment Shorun saw him, he started shouting. “Damn it all, Mitaka, what in all of the kriffing hells is this supposed to be?”

It was suddenly very difficult to keep a straight face. “What do you mean, sir? Are those my new orders you’re waving around?”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about! These can’t possibly be your orders. No one would put someone like you in a position of authority, and we all know it!”

Dopheld raised an eyebrow. “Well, sir, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up with General Hux. I tried to explain the absurdity of the situation to him myself, but he just wouldn’t listen. Perhaps we can comm him, and you can explain his misjudgment to him yourself?”

A sound that bore a suspicious resemblance to a snort came from one of the troopers. _Kriff it all, Bits, hold it together for two damned minutes._

Shorun flushed, then actually hissed at him. “Don’t think this is over, Meat. I’ll get to the bottom of this, and make what’s left of your life a misery.”

“I have no doubt you’ll try, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have new duties to attend to.”

Dopheld saluted him sharply, then turned to the rest of the room. “Gentlemen, ladies, it has truly been an honor to serve with you. My thanks for all of your hard work.”

They all came to attention and saluted him. It was…gratifying. He had done what he could for them, and they knew it. He returned the salute crisply, and began to walk out the door, then turned back.

He walked over to Bits, and grasped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, you reprobate.”

“It’s been an honor, sir.” He laughed softly. “Go on, then, Lieutenant Treasure.”

“Idiot.” Dopheld gave his shoulder a squeeze, and then turned to go and find his new quarters.

Maybe, for once, things were starting to look up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are wonderful. Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the muse AND my poor, battered ego.


End file.
